“Probably the fifth or sixth baby,” Patrick said. “You know that women die in childbirth, Alex. Think of mother. It happens all the time, and most frequently with the first baby. Charlotte has to conserve her strength. The doctor is right. I saw a woman die, in India. She simply didn’t have the strength after a while.”

Alex pushed out of his brother’s embrace and leaned against the corridor wall, shuddering all over. There was silence in the bedroom. Then the horrible cries erupted again.

Patrick gave him a little shake. “I’m going to take your daughter into the village and leave her with the vicar’s wife,” he said. “Charlotte can be heard all over the house.” He strode away.

Alex leaned against the wall without replying. By two hours later he was praying, fiercely, promising anything and everything he owned. Charlotte had stopped screaming, but he didn’t know whether that was bad or good. It didn’t sound good. The contractions were still coming, but all he heard were whimpers and harsh, groaning breathing.

He couldn’t even think, caught in the grip of an agonized grief so large that he felt black water closing over his head. Charlotte was his heart and his soul. She was being tortured in the next room and he couldn’t even hold her in his arms because he had made her too afraid of him.

The hours crept by. Patrick brought him a slice of meat and a glass of wine, which lay untouched on a tray. He brought a couple of chairs and sat down next to Alex, a silent, comforting presence. Alex couldn’t bring himself to sit down. He stayed propped against the wall.

Then Sophie’s voice came through the heavy oak door, sounding desperate.

“Charlotte! Charlotte! You must not give up! Wake up, wake up!”

There was an agitated murmur of voices. Alex straightened. The doctor could go to hell. He was going in there. He opened the door. The little cluster of people didn’t even look up. Charlotte was on the bed now. She was naked, her belly swelling from her slender body. A pulse of pure terror struck Alex’s heart. He could just glimpse her face and it had the look of death. She’s going to die, he thought. She’s going to die. My lovely, lovely Charlotte is going to die.

He walked over to the bed. “Get out,” Alex said fiercely. The doctor didn’t look up; he was waving sal volatile under Charlotte’s nose, but she didn’t even tremble at the fierce acid smell. Alex grasped his arm and flung him back.

“Get out!” he bellowed. The little flock of women fell back from the bed in alarm.